


brass & peaches

by alientoastt



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Western AU, but its. not old west. they are just In The West, he/they marius, its the ~20's. kinda. they're in america. things are weird. they're still steampunk. it's a vibe, long hair jonny d'ville, small town AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alientoastt/pseuds/alientoastt
Summary: Brian hires a farmhand, Jonny needs work, Brian's dad is out of town for the summer, Brian and Jonny fall in love. Their town is weird.
Relationships: (Eventual), Drumbot Brian/Jonny d'Ville
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some light swearing, and know that everyone but jonny is dating to some extent at this point

Ashes O’Reilly squats by the fireplace in their otherwise cold inn, and they stare into the flames, and their mind wanders.

_ This isn’t right. _

They like this.

_ They like dry heat and smoke and ruination. _

They like being a beacon, something safe and comforting. 

_ No, again, that’s not right. They are Ashes O’Reilly, from the mobster planet Malone, and they- _

Ashes O’Reilly, the innkeep, stands with a soft grunt and brushes their near-burnt hands off on a damp towel from the bar like it’ll somehow clear their head. Tim looks up- “Gunpowder” Tim, their bartender, a rumpled man not much younger or older than themself, his hair tied in a silk scarf (one of his finer possessions) and his shirt half-open from the growing heat outside, eyes like camera lenses and a laugh that gave him his name. They smile and sidle on over to the bar, settle comfortably on to one of the stools, and take a sip of the drink Tim sets in front of them.

Tim leans against the bar with a grin on his lips, resting his chin in his hands and cocking his head lightly. “There’s a new face in town.”

Ashes raises an eyebrow, keeping their expression neutral to mask their excitement. “Oh?”

“Farmhand, came in from back east. Short motherfucker staying with the Brassmith’s boy.”

Ashes snorts. “Won’t last a week.”

Tim grins and shakes his head. “You’ll see. I’ve got a good feeling about this one- hell, we kept Marius, didn’t we?”

Ashes rolls their eyes, but can’t keep from smiling. “We didn’t keep them, he just didn’t  _ leave _ .” They  _ are _ fond of the mechanic, they and Nastya keep the few cars in the town running like no-one’s business and can fix damn near anything electric or motorized- it’s their doing that such a small town keeps some modicum of modernity.

“Either way,” Tim levels, “He’ll at least last the summer.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jonny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some notes on this au!  
> \- they sure as fuck are somewhere dude. utah? oklahoma? texas? unclear.  
> \- jonny's accent probably won't come up but it's somewhere between alabama and texas (i am so sorry if you're not american i promise the fic isn't this specific)  
> \- marius and nastya are mechanics (aurora is a lovely car), ashes is the innkeep, tim's their bartender, raph is the chemist, brian's family farm is what sparked the town in the first place and goes back a few generations (his family's all english and irish immigrants), and ivy's the school librarian. jonny's... new (and a roaming farmhand from A City). there's a few other families in town, mostly found, most all of them queer.  
> \- how do people's backstories rope into this? unclear. carmilla's still a vampire and is. somewhere. probably new orleans doing whatever it is that vampires do in new orleans  
> drink water, take your meds, and be gentle with yourself :D <33  
> my tumblr is @alientoastt and my fic blog is @jonnyvangelis, feel free to send an ask to either!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jonny and brian actually talk. more light swearing, and the formation of a crush, maybe, a little bit.

Jonny squints down the road and pulls back on the reins slowly, giving a pat to the horse’s withers and sliding off in front of the main gate- a rusting sign hangs over top, ironwork bent to read,

BRASSMITH & SON

The scruffy man stretches, a hand coming to press at his lower back, the second coming up to his mouth to call out an “Anyone home? It’s Jonny V- d’Ville, heard you needed work.” He squints again, cursing his lack of a hat (though he spent his hat money on food for the horse).

A copper puff pops up from the orchard just the other side of the fence- then the head attached, Jonny registers that it’s hair, and Brian scowls for a moment before he recognizes the man and horse (from his description in a letter a few days back) and a grin splits his face. He waves Jonny over and calls something that gets lost on the wind.

Jonny stands frozen for a moment, blinking.

_Oh no._

_He’s cuter than a fucking puppy._

And Jonny realizes a half-second later that the man with the golden retriever grin who greets him as his feet take him through the gate is metal, and his eyebrows shoot up as he takes a step back. He regrets it immediately as Brian’s smile falters, and Jonny steadies himself, swallowing hard. He offers a hand when he’s close enough- firm, jaw set tight, and nods. “You’re Brian, yeah?” He lowers his voice purposefully and levels Brian with a look that’s probably meant to be tough.

The taller man tips his hat low over his eyes and nods curtly (if Jonny didn’t know any better, he’d say the man was blushing. How the fuck the bastard can blush, Jonny’s not sure.) “That I am,” and Jonny’s hit with another shock— Brian’s accent is English with a twang matching his own, like Irish but a bit to the left. “I meant to send you a letter ‘bout it, but you showed up before I could send it. My father ain’t around this summer, something came up business-wise and he made a run for Cincinnati. You might have more work than I can pay you for, if you want to dip early, I—”

“It’s alright, man, I don’t got anywhere else to go. Bed and food on the table’s all I ask.” Jonny offers his sweetest smile (a cringing little thing, his face wasn’t made for subtlety) and fidgets with the reins still held in his hand, unsure how to properly placate the anxious man towering over him.

Brian takes a shaky breath and brings his hat down to his chest, running his free hand through his hair, and looks down at Jonny with a questioning look. “You’re sure? I wouldn’t want you feeling undervalued, your work’s worth proper pay.” 

“Promise I won’t sell myself short, being this far from home’s payment enough.” Jonny’s smile turns genuine. Brian seems to soothe, then, his shoulders losing some of their tension, though his easy smile doesn’t quite return.

“I’ll… show you to your room then, yeah?” Brian offers his hand and Jonny’s brow furrows before he links elbows with the taller man, letting him lead on with a nod.

(Jonny lets the horse into the paddock first, pulling all her tack off and making sure she’s alright with Brian’s mare before leaving her be.) 

The house is dusty, once-white siding now chipped with decades of wear from the valley’s wind. The porch is covered, curtains sit in the window, and a few pots of perennial flowers bloom and buzz by the railing; it all leans to one side if Jonny squints (and he’s always squinting without a damn hat), lists just barely to the right and brings the tin roof down with it. A squat barn sits a little ways down the path, wider and taller than the house by a good fifty feet, and Jonny can hear the huff and bustle of the cows before he can smell them. Chickens peck at the path and dry grass in front of the house— fluffy little bastards that only come halfway up his calf and orange as the hair of the man he clings to. Their run, he figures, is at the back of the house.

Brian shoulders the door open with a creak from its hinges and a soft grunt (hangs his hat on the rack), leading Jonny through a small front room and heading for a hallway just past the ice box. There’s a gas stove, counters that were probably at one time shiny, tile floor in the corner that could, politely, be called a kitchen. An overstuffed couch sits facing the kitchen table, a comfy-looking armchair opposite it, and a rug that looks older than the two men combined protecting the wood floor from the heavy furniture best it can. Atop the shoddy coffee table is… Jonny figures it’s a radio, with the speaker in the front like that, but it’s small and boxy and looks to have a handle and all manner of dials and whatnot. Between the couch and kitchen sits a tiny round breakfast table, two chairs, and a mason jar full of pressed flowers. His attention is dragged away from the living room when he realizes Brian is looking down at him with an amused concern, and he startles some, trying to drag his attention back to what Brian meant to show him.

The room is small, but the bed is big. He takes a tentative step forward, Brian releasing his arm at the barest tug, and he takes a seat, eyes widening then falling shut as he feels himself sink just enough to be comfortable. He lets himself fall back, his legs still hanging off the bed, and lets out a soft groan, wriggling his shoulders a bit in an effort to bury himself in the soft fabric. _The quilt is Heaven on a sore back, and he hasn’t felt such soft a surface in weeks._ He cracks an eye open when he notices a strange huff, and blushes hard upon realizing that Brian’s trying in earnest not to laugh. He sits upright like a sprung trap and hikes his shoulders up, swallows hard, and tries to stammer out something about second hand saddles when Brian just shakes his head and smiles that easy puppy-grin and placates, “You’ve been riding a while, from the sound of it. You deserve the rest.”

Jonny opens his mouth to protest, but can’t think of a proper one to give. “I… could do with a nap.”

“Then take one, I’ll make lunch and wake you when it’s done.” Brian takes a step back and rests his hand on the doorframe, walking out the room with a nod as Jonny sets about stripping some layers, kicking his boots off by the dresser and closing the door so he can get his shirt off and dust his jeans nearly clean.

He winces at his reflection in the standing mirror. His long hair’s a ratty mess from riding in the wind so long— Hell, it’s a problem that it’s long at all, he’d had it shaved back with Jack— his goatee’s nearly a proper beard, and his undershirt’s a sweaty mess. His arms are a good two shades pinker from the elbow down (same with his neck and face), not that it’s any surprise, but he reckons he looks pitiful. He scrubs his hands over his face, instantly regrets it as the rough skin on his palms grates on his tender cheeks, and tugs off his undershirt, falling on top of the blankets of the bed and curling up for as long a nap as he can manage.

He rests easy for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is... all i have so far. i keep writing chapters all in one day as an attempt to put off other things so it is Unclear whether this will actually update but! hope you liked it anyway :3  
> be gentle with yourself, drink water, and take your meds! and stretch, you just read a lot!  
> and remember that sometimes just being an alive cowboy is enough


End file.
